The String Diaries

by Stephen Lloyd Jones

  Claws of panic punctured her skin, clenched her intestines. Twisted. Whoever the driver of the Defender was, if he wasn’t outside the front of Llyn Gwyr, he was probably moving around the side of the farmhouse.

  Back towards the Discovery.

  And Leah.

  A moan escaped her. Breaking cover, all sense of stealth forgotten, she sprinted down the hall to the kitchen.

  ‘Han!’

  On the sofa, Nate had removed the oxygen regulator. His face was translucent. A death mask. As she passed him he reached out and his fingers closed on her wrist, his strength as delicate as cobwebs. When he pulled her to him, his voice was little more than breath against her cheek. ‘Pantry . . . left shelf.’ His eyes rolled with the effort of talking. ‘Shotgun. Loaded last time I checked.’

  ‘Leah’s outside.’ Hannah heard herself sob. A wretched sound. She was losing her husband. Perhaps her daughter too.

  ‘Go.’

  She stepped towards the pantry door. Sensing movement, she glanced around at the kitchen windows and saw something butt its face up against the glass.

  The candlelight had transformed the windows into flaming mirrors, reflecting everything except what lay directly behind them. In the window beside the door, a large dog stared in at her, front paws resting on the sill. Hannah halted halfway across the kitchen, locked into the gaze of its rust-coloured eyes. Although the transforming effect of the candlelight disguised its true colouring, she saw a muscular chest covered by a short, thick coat.

  Hannah remained motionless until another face appeared behind the glass. This time she gasped and took a step backwards as she saw not another dog, but a man.

  He was ancient. At least eighty. Tall in defiance of his age. Deep lines and creases ran in patterns across his face. Little fat or flesh clung to his bones. A fuzz of white hair, cropped close, covered his head and a mist of stubble sprouted on hollow cheeks. His eyes startled her the most. They shone bright, green, and wicked, sparkling with the flicker of reflected flames. The instant he noticed her he froze, and they stared at each other, both of them still.

  The dog skittered a paw across the glass and tilted its head. It barked once and began to whine, the thin sound discordant over the wind’s voice. Without taking his eyes off Hannah, the stranger raised a hand and caressed the animal’s ears. Immediately it fell silent.

  Hannah retreated a step towards Nate, grateful that the high back of the sofa concealed his presence. As if sensing her thoughts, the dog glanced over at where he lay.

  The old man lifted up his hands. ‘Didn’t mean to startle you,’ he shouted. His voice was strong, as dry as straw, and his accent was strange: an influence of Welsh laid over something less identifiable.

  Could this really be him?

  She could think of nothing that would have allowed him to find them so quickly. Had he simply made a fatefully lucky guess?

  ‘What do you want?’ Hannah surprised herself with the steel in her voice. She forced herself to avoid looking down at Nate. There was nothing he could do; she was in this alone.

  ‘Saw your lights approaching from my place. Just seeing if everything’s all right, is all.’ The old man moved towards the door. As he passed the window she risked a glance down. Nate had lapsed back into unconsciousness. The oxygen regulator lay useless on his chest.

  Her eyes snapped back up. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘Not been people at Llyn Gwyr for a long while. Sometimes when a place lies empty around here, you get trouble turning up. Making itself at home when it’s got no business doing so. Damn fool time of night to be making a visit, if you ask me.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  He continued to stare at her, his intentions unreadable in the furrows of his face. ‘There’s a young girl sleeping in your car. She yours?’

  Hannah felt a scream building. At least it would relieve some of the pressure. Nate was waning, his life trickling away every moment she delayed. Leah was stranded in the Discovery, cut off from Hannah by this outlandish stranger and his creature. Her throat throbbed with clenched emotion. ‘My daughter.’

  ‘Are you trouble?’ he asked. If truly this was Jakab, the odd exchange of words was nothing she had previously contemplated.

  ‘No. We’re not trouble.’

  He nodded. ‘Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t. Maybe you are, and just don’t know it. For a moment I thought you might be robbers, or at least people up to no good. But now I’ve seen you. Well, there never was much of value here to start with, I suppose.’

  Hannah sorted through her options. She had no weapon to hand. Nate had told her of the shotgun, but the kitchen door was unlocked, and in the time it took her to get into the pantry, he would be inside the house. If she needed more than a second to locate the weapon, or if Nate’s recollection was wrong, then it would all be over. Yet what if the old man was genuine?

  He turned his eyes up to the skies, as if losing interest. ‘This storm’s going to roll in any moment. Just figured if you were alone, you might need help getting the power on.’

  Hannah forced herself to make a decision. She could not trust this stranger’s identity or his intentions. But if he was really from a neighbouring farm out on a mission of charity, she could not risk rousing his suspicions. More than anything, she needed help.

  You have to take a chance. Please God let this be the right one.

  Senses screaming, she walked to the kitchen door, and before she could change her mind she opened it. Wind eddied into the room, baring teeth of ice. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You just startled me. Let’s start again. It’s good of you to check up.’

  Fanned by the air rushing into the room, the flames in the hearth set emeralds dancing in the old man’s eyes. ‘Don’t need an apology. Sometimes when you live out here alone, you forget how to treat with people.’ He held out a hand, the skin around his eyes crinkling. ‘They call me Sebastien.’

  Hannah hesitated. She focused on steadying the shakes that tried to betray her. Reached out her hand.

  If he grabs me, I’ll scream. But it won’t matter. It’ll be too late. I will have failed them.

  She felt the old man’s fingers close on her hand. His skin felt like soft denim, dry and warm. He gripped her hand. Tight.

  And then he let go.

  Sebastien indicated the dog. ‘This here’s Moses. It’s been a time, but there used to be a diesel generator in your outhouse. If the motor hasn’t seized, I could try getting it started for you. Won’t give you any hot water but at least you’ll have light. Why don’t you get your little sprite inside while Moses and I go and take a look?’

  ‘You’re very kind. Thank you.’

  She didn’t know nearly enough about who he was and why he was here, and something about him unsettled her. But that would have to wait. Hannah watched as he whistled to his dog, pulled up the collar of his Barbour and turned away. He walked out of the candlelight towards the stone buildings.

  Whatever happens, don’t leave him alone with Nate.

  If she allowed that, she faced losing the one thing to which she could cling: the knowledge, the utter conviction, that the man lying on the sofa was the father of her child, the man she loved, her confidant, her friend. Hannah opened the kitchen door, ducked outside and ran towards the 4x4.

  The wind battered her, furious, and tried to push her back inside the house. Gusts flung squalls of stinging rain. She lifted an arm across her face, screwed up her eyes. Peering through the darkness at the car, she wondered what she would do if her daughter wasn’t inside. The thought nearly made her retch.

  Don’t think about it. Not yet.

  Moving to the Discovery’s rear door, she wrenched it open and found Leah illuminated in the milky glow of the overhead light.

  Relief. Joy. Anguish.

  What would
you have done if she’d gone? What would you have done, Hannah?

  Trying not to wake the girl, she unfastened the seat belt, gathered her daughter into her arms and carried her across the driveway to the house. In one of the outbuildings, she saw torchlight and heard the clacking of a hand crank.

  Back inside Llyn Gwyr’s kitchen, she lowered Leah into an armchair. The girl opened her eyes, blinked. Hannah hushed her, pressing a cushion into her arms. She smoothed her daughter’s hair until Leah closed her eyes again and curled up.

  She turned to Nate. Lifted back his blanket. Spots of blood had begun to stain the bandages that bound his dressings.

  The kitchen door banged open and before she could cry out to stop him, Sebastien walked inside, wiping his feet on the mat. He flicked the light switch. When the overhead bulb winked on, he nodded to himself. ‘Reckon you’ve got enough diesel to get you through two or three nights. Tomorrow you need to check your LP tank. You might have warmth now, but there’s not much wood in your store and with the roof blown in, what you’ve got is soaked. If there’s any left, the gas should give you hot water. If there isn’t, you need to order some. Not wise to be unprepared up in these mountains. Especially when there’s little folk around.’ He turned towards the door. ‘Moses, come. Let’s get this door shut.’

  Hannah rose to her feet as the dog trotted inside. When the old man closed the door, she felt her muscles tense. He opened his mouth to say something further, and then he seemed to notice her alarm. This time her eyes betrayed her. She glanced down at her husband.

  Sebastien leaned over the sofa. He stared down at Nate. At the blood dried to his milk-white face. At the oxygen tank. The regulator.

  Without a word, he reached out and laid two fingers against the pulse point on her husband’s neck.

  He looked up at Hannah. ‘Thought you weren’t trouble.’

  ‘We’re not.’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I reckon you need more help than I thought.’ He licked his lips. ‘You want to be straight with me. Pretty quick. This boy’s as good as dead.’

  She sobbed. ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean he is dead.’ Sebastien rounded the sofa and knelt down at Nate’s side, knees cracking. He lifted back the blanket and surveyed the dressings. ‘You want my help?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He raised his head and his eyes pierced her. ‘You’re willing to do as I say and tell me exactly what I ask?’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He was stabbed. Twice.’ Tears streamed down her face. ‘I don’t know if his lung is punctured. I can’t tell.’

  ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘Five hours ago.’

  ‘And you didn’t take him to a hospital? You’re a bloody fool.’

  ‘I know. I know.’

  ‘As good as killing him.’

  ‘Don’t. Please.’

  ‘Who stabbed him?’

  ‘I . . .’ She hesitated. How could she explain that?

  ‘I said be straight with me,’ he snapped. ‘Never mind. You can tell me later. For now, stay here. Moses? Légy résen.’

  The dog moved around the sofa and sat down on its haunches, close to Nate.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Outside. I have a medical kit in the car.’

  ‘There’s one here.’ She indicated the plastic briefcase.

  ‘No good. I’ll use my own.’

  He was gone for less than a minute. When he returned he was carrying a bulky canvas roll and a black holdall. The canvas looked ancient, military, but when he unrolled it she saw it contained medical supplies that were modern and clean.

  ‘Let’s have a look at you, boy.’ Sebastien rolled back Nate’s blanket, selected a pair of scissors from his roll and snipped away the bandages. He nodded at the regulator. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Oxygen.’

  ‘Wake him up. We need him conscious. And get that back into his mouth. It’s no good if he’s not breathing it.’

  Hannah complied, sliding past Sebastien to rouse her husband. She pressed the regulator back into place. Nate moaned.

  The old man peeled away the dressings, swearing at what he saw beneath. Gaping wounds, pooling with blood. ‘Did you clean these?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not properly, you didn’t.’ Shaking his head, muttering more curses, Sebastien withdrew a pair of surgical gloves from a canvas fold and snapped them on. He spent a long time swabbing Nate’s wounds with alcohol. Probing the edges of the first, he scowled as fresh blood welled. ‘Deep. Very deep. But the lung isn’t punctured. It’s too low for that, and you’d probably see air bubbling up.’

  He moved on to the second wound, air whistling in his nose as he concentrated. ‘It’s this one that concerns me. It’s in the right place to have sliced through his intestine. I can’t tell yet.’ He selected a shiny metal instrument and teased apart the sides. Dark blood overflowed and ran down Nate’s torso. ‘I need to stitch this. And quickly. We’re going to have to do it a layer at a time.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘You know how to rig up an IV?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Get a catheter into him. You’ll find one in there.’ He nodded towards the canvas roll. ‘Saline bags in the holdall. And a line.’

  They worked together for nearly an hour, their only words his instruction and her compliance. Hannah inserted a cannula into a vein on the underside of Nate’s arm. She taped it in place and set up a gravity-fed drip, wondering how an ancient hermit could have access to medical saline bags. She guessed that he couldn’t. Realised that her family weren’t out of danger; worried that they might be in even more danger.

  Hannah watched as Sebastien sutured Nate’s wounds layer by layer, hands working with delicate haste. His green eyes glittered as he concentrated on his task, and his breathing grew more nasal. Without looking up, he asked her to pass him a swab and when she placed it into his upturned hand she saw a mark, or tattoo, on his wrist: faded, blue and indistinct, but plainly the silhouette of a bird of prey.

  Moses sat by the fire, tail sweeping the flagstones, eyes fixed on the windows. Abruptly Sebastien sat back and pulled off his gloves. He passed a hand across the top of his skull. Massaged his scalp. ‘It’s done.’

  Hannah studied the neatly sewn wounds on her husband’s torso, his shockingly pale skin, the dark, sunken patches around his eyes. His blue lips. ‘Nate?’

  Her husband stared at the ceiling, eyes unfocused and dull. Corpselike. After a moment, he moved his head and looked at her. When he opened his mouth to speak she shushed him, telling him that it was OK, that he was going to be OK.

  Hannah turned to the old man. ‘What now?’

  Using an arm of the sofa for support, Sebastien pushed himself to his feet. He flexed his shoulders. ‘Now he rests. I’d prefer it if we could get him into bed, but it’s best that he lies here for now. We don’t want to risk those opening again.’

  ‘Can we let him sleep?’

  ‘Let’s get some more liquids into him first.’

  Hannah got to her feet and mixed another glass of sugar water. She held it to Nate’s lips. He gulped it down. Closed his eyes. Within seconds he was asleep. Hannah found Sebastien’s gaze upon her.

  ‘I think,’ he said, ‘it’s time for some answers.’

  ‘Will he live?’

  ‘That’s a question.’

  ‘It’s the only question right now.’

  He frowned. ‘You agreed to be straight with me.’

  ‘He’s my husband.’ Hannah gestured to the armchair where Leah slept. ‘You’re looking at our daughter. They’re the two most important people in the world to me. They’re all I have. And I need to know if h
e’s going to live.’

  ‘If your husband survives the night, he’s got a good chance.’

  ‘And his chances of surviving the night?’

  ‘Do you believe in God?’

  The question ambushed her, choked her. She couldn’t speak.

  Seeing her distress, Sebastien’s face softened. ‘If you do, pray. Because that’s all either of us can do.’ He sat down on a wooden chair at the table by the window. Moses padded across the room, arranging himself at the old man’s feet.

  Sebastien caressed the dog’s head. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ve helped you as much as I can. If you’re bringing trouble to the valley, I want to know about it. Question one: who stabbed him?’

  Hannah remained still a moment, weighing up everything that had transpired. She felt her heart begin to thud in her chest. Moving to the cooker, she twisted the dial for one of the hobs and heard the hiss of gas. She found a box of matches and lit the range. Then she filled a kettle with water and placed it over the flame. ‘You’re right. You deserve answers,’ she admitted. ‘I’ll tell you. But before we do anything else, let me make some tea.’

  Sebastien’s face relaxed. ‘That would be most welcome.’

  ‘I think there’s powdered milk from the last century somewhere around.’

  She knew she couldn’t leave him with Nate for more than a moment. She had seen how quick and agile he could be. Opening the pantry door, heart a staccato drumming, she ducked inside. Found what she needed.

  Back in the kitchen, Sebastien had not strayed from his chair by the window. He glanced up at her as she aimed the shotgun at his chest and thumbed the safety switch.

  ‘I’ve seen that tattoo before, old man,’ she said. ‘You’d better start talking.’

  CHAPTER 4

  Oxford

  1979

  Charles had only a moment to witness Nicole’s car flip over before a line of trees blurred past on the left, blocking his view.

  Hands tight on the steering wheel, teeth clenched in shock, he glanced once into his rear-view mirror before jamming his foot on the brakes. The Stag’s bonnet dived and its tyres shrieked. Charles’s seat belt snapped taut against his chest. He spun the wheel and turned around on the empty road.